I used to be in a rush to grow up so that I could become independent from my parents. So that I could be free.
But I had much more freedom when I knew nothing.
Insomnia.
honestly,
If you pushed aside all the clutter and bullshit you might come to the realization that who you are is enough. You might see that telling people what they want to hear isn’t the way to make them love you. You might see that when you try to avoid hurting people it will only hurt them more in the end. You might realize that all the problems that you face are there because you created them. And you might learn that you deserve to be loved. Once you understand that, I think you will find it a bit easier to live life how you want. You may become less afraid of the truth, because you will know that if you are true to yourself people will always love you. Because if you push aside all the clutter, bullshit, dishonesty, what is there not to love? Everyone is afraid of being alone, but the irony is that we will only truly be alone if we let that fear dictate our lives.
Shackles
The shackles that chain me
Made of my own flesh and bone
Fingernails dig into my skin
Drawing blood
I’m alone
And there’s no chance that I could
Win
With that wavering tone
The only shackles that chain me
Are my own.
poltergeist,
rattle my ribs, your cage
knock on my skull
remind me of when you
kissed me
quite saccharine
and bewitched me
body and soul.
charming
disarming
but faint as my breath
memories flooding from times
past
never last
and less tangible than smoke.
poltergeist,
your chilling whispers
your temperate moans
are all i have.
i cling
but i am tenuous,
nothing but a shadowy figure,
even more obscure
vague
ghostlike
than you.
infiniheart: the next time i fall in love
I don’t want to be put on a pedestal
I don’t want to be a trophy or a prize
Hanging onto somebody’s hand as if to say
“Look at me! Look at me! Aren’t I special! Aren’t I rare!”
I don’t want to be with someone just so that they can say
I’m theirs
Because I don’t belong to anyone but myself
…
8 months ago - 
7
7 Repeat
We are hurt.
It’s a never ending cycle of pain
as sharp as glass
cutting us from the inside out.
Others force us to swallow the shards
then we force ourselves to swallow more
because that’s all we deserve.
Stop.
It won’t. But we want it to.
It just hurts so much,
because someone hurt us
so we will hurt others
to stop our hurt
and they will hurt others
to stop their hurt
until we are all
painfully
reminded that like all cycles this one is
never ending.
But what else can we do
when we feel so low
that blood seems beautiful
and pain becomes a numb meditation,
or a sort of perpetual haven?
We hurt others.
We hurt ourselves.
We let others hurt us.
Repeat.
“Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
and I eat men like air”
-Sylvia Plath
Self Portrait
My Lucky Number
Number One
From you I run
Your words were bullets in a gun.
Number Two
You were so blue
There was nothing I could do.
Number Three
Was nice to me
On the days that he could be.
Number Four
Seemed like more
But I was just another whore.
Oh Number Four
I still adore
The You I loved from before.
Oh Number Four
You seemed like more
But now it’s you I must ignore.
O Children
